


The Island

by chemiglee



Category: Glee
Genre: Gen, tw: character death, tw: gore, tw: horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-14
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-14 23:56:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/842901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chemiglee/pseuds/chemiglee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will Mike and Matt survive The Island and make it back to Camp New Directions in one piece?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Island

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [#sing play cake live death meme](http://the-multicorn.tumblr.com/tagged/sing+play+cake+live+death) on Tumblr. TW for gore and character death. There is a happy ending, I promise.

I  
Mike took in huge gulps of air. His heartbeat pounded hard in his ears, shutting everything else out of his overloaded brain. Beside him, Matt was wringing sweat from the piece of shirt he'd ripped to make a towel. It smelled dank, like sweat, and rot, and shit. 

All day, light had blazed through the dense foliage overhead, but Mike now reckoned it was close to nightfall. Tropical heat piled up around them in thick overlapping layers. It was windless. As they ran, they'd caught glimpses: yellow spots flashing, gray ribbon tongues flicking against tree bark, glittering eyes piercing the greyish green forest, and everywhere, everywhere, always surrounding them, a steady, sibilant _hissssssssssssss_ low in their ears. Exotic birds and fat grey gibbons, perched up from on high, mocked and jeered and howled. Bird shit and half-eaten rotten fruit streaked their thin, sweat-soaked "Camp New Directions Staff" shirts. 

The only time they'd had to rest, really rest, was at midday (sort of), when sharp-eyed Matt had spotted the cave. It held just enough room for both of them to sit and lean against the slimy walls. They cleared boy-sized spaces into the cool dirt, amongst all the scattered rib cages and empty-eyed skulls. The stench of decay was overpowering. The gibbons had thrown nut shells down at them too, and the sharp pieces got in your hair and down the back of your shirt. They picked off the pieces while water dripped down onto their heads.

Then, lunch. Mike had found some fat white grubs under a mold-rotted log. He'd stashed them in his pockets as he found them. They wriggled helplessly in the mouth and squirted a bitter, citrusy juice while you chewed. Mike and Matt grimaced as they swallowed, chasing them down with the last of the PowerBars Matt had (thank God) stolen from the broken supply crates that morning. 

Then they had to pee and get their bearings and then it was time to move on. Run, march, duck, gasp, shiver, bite down your fear. For hours. 

They burst in on a sort-of clearing, a wide, roughly circular patch trodden down by their giant footprints and dotted by broken tree trunks. Matt called a halt. The sun bled a fiery red-orange. Mike tumbled down to his knees, then onto his side, and onto his back. Branches poked into his spine. Mike was tired. Things with tiny pricking feet crawled all over him, down his shirt, under his sleeves, around his ears, exploring the pockets of his torn khakis. _Hisssssssssssssss_. A snail left a slimy, cold trail over the raw, bloody grooves in the flesh about his ankles. He let the bugs do what they wanted to. He was too tired to care. Maybe they could sleep right here out in the open and maybe they'd be dead by the time they woke up. 

Above him, Matt made a face at his makeshift towel. "What kind of fucking island is this?" He got cut off by a yelp: probably, Mike thought tiredly, a cloud of those GIANT FUCKING MOSQUITOES had swarmed the poor guy, like they always did whenever they stopped for more than a few minutes. Matt screamed at them. Mike could hear the helpless thwack of Matt's t-shirt towel against his skin. These mosquitoes bit painfully, leaving tiny red tracks when they bled and ragged scars when they dried. 

"What kind of fucking camp orientation is this, you mean?" Mike's quiet voice sounded like Matt's: confused, bewildered, homesick, exhausted. It cut through Matt's yells and all of the sudden the background forest noise stopped. An eerie silence settled in upon them and that was worse than anything they'd experienced together, today. Even the steady, sibilant _hisssssssssssss_ had stopped. 

A centipede straggled across Mike's damp forehead as Matt cursed and ranted, quieter this time: "Why is everything on this island fucking GIANT?" He wished he knew. He closed his eyes. Even though he didn't dare open them, Mike already knew what Matt was thinking about as he waited for his new best friend to get up. 

II  
 _Never trust an ad that promises $10000 for a summer's worth of "easy work teaching kids to sing and dance."_ On the day after they'd arrived, they'd been overpowered, blindfolded, gagged, bound, bundled into a speedboat. The harsh thrum of the motor blocked everything out except the confusion. The boat dipped as it sliced through the water and terror had risen in their closed gorges. Neither of them knew how to swim. 

On shore, the group had been tipped out of the boat. They were released from their ropes. It was a heavy, dark, hot night with no moon. Crates were dropped. The tarp and ropes and matches had been thrown at them. _If you want to work at Camp New Directions_ , the steely blonde woman said, _the first thing you need to learn how to do is survive. We'll be back in two days._ She and the other grim-faced staff piled back into the speedboat and didn't look back. The wind echoed, desolate, as the speedboat glided over the edge of the horizon. 

They looked at each other, stunned. And that was when the storm hit.

The heady ozone smell smothered them. Thunder crashed. _**CR - CR - CR - CRACK ******_and a yellow lightning bolt split the closest tree right down the middle. That first screaming gust of wind blew the tarp out into the water. Rain struck the kids down like bullets. It was Irish Kid who dredged up the thought and dragged the black driftwood sheet over. The kids huddled together under it, taking it in turns to hold it up over their heads, as the others tried to sleep away the rage. Except the little brown-haired rich girl. She'd refused to hold up anything. Nobody did get much rest.

They all woke in a sticky huddle. The driftwood had broken in pieces and scattered all over the bone-strewn beach. The rising sun clawed red and orange streaks through the straggling wisps of cloud. After raiding the crates, the ragtag group had split up into pairs, close to where the beach started and the forest began. "We got 'ta sur _vive_ ," Irish had said. 

That was when the herd of GIANT FUCKING LIZARDS had leaped out from their hiding spots (how did they jump so far from the forest?) and clamped their jaws around the little brown-haired rich girl and the Irish guy. There was thick dark red blood, gore, screaming - possibly from him. Bones crunched horrifically and guts spilled out between their jagged teeth as the lizards fed and fed and lashed out at the shrieking boys with long, spiky tails. 

That was when he and Mike decided to run, past the horde, flailing, into the forest. 

Once in, they'd finally introduced themselves to each other between desperately snatched puffs of breath. Then, time to run. They ducked and weaved and streaked through the leaves, over massive tree roots, past picked-over human bones, listening for the telltale scratching of what they imagined were GIANT FUCKING LIZARD claws against the ground. On frequent breaks, like this one, they'd made small talk, picking off branches and scrubbing shit off of their shoes and yelling at MOSQUITOES. They were desperately thirsty. They'd settled for rinsing their faces in a slow, algae-green stream, surrounded by that _hisssssssssssss_ and dimly glowing yellow eyes (although why were they bothering to clean up anyway? His new Airs and Mike's new Converse were hopelessly ruined.) 

They didn't stop for a snatched dinner of grubs. Mike swore that the LIZARDS were running up right behind them. They didn't stop until they got to here, to this sort-of clearing. Matt swore and rubbed his freshly bleeding skin as the buzzing swarm moved on. 

"Hey, get up, Mike. The MOSQUITOES are gone."

"I can hear them, can't you?" Mike rambled, eyes closed. Bugs were crawling all over him. He shook. "The lizards. The GIANT FUCKING LIZARDS."

The steady, sibilant _hisssssssssss_ and the pounding of relentless LIZARD foot stomps petered off into the distance. Matt dredged up some energy from somewhere in his aching muscles and sharpened his voice with it. "They gotta sleep sometime. It's quieter now. We have to find somewhere to spend the night."

"You go on. I can't do it. I'll just lie here."

Matt put his t-shirt towel around his neck and crouched down, one knee in the dirt. GIANT FUCKING ANTS marched in a regimented line over his feet and over Mike's limp noodly legs. Matt quelled a shudder, but he reached over and clasped one of Mike's sweaty hands in his. 

"No, you can't stay here. We promised. We'll stay together and we'll survive together."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can. You can do this."

Mike yanked. Matt fell, half on the crawling insects and half on the broken ground. He rolled over on his back. He closed his eyes wearily and he felt the inquisitive bugs discover him, too. At least these ones didn't bite.

"It's not so bad if you lie right here." 

A beetle crawled into a ridge of Matt's left ear. "Maybe you think so, but I don't."

Mike struggled to form his words properly. He was that tired. "What'd you think this camp was going to be like?"

Matt stared up into the star-strewn night. "Having fun. Playing football with you guys. Teaching little kids how to sing and dance. Getting paid."

"Me too. I thought maybe I'd ask out that cute Goth girl." Mike scratched his arm and a roving millipede darted away from the crook of his elbow. Hisssssssssssss echoed around them and jeweled orbs pricked the dark. 

Matt laughed weakly. "She's cute. So was, uh, Mercedes? The one with the pipes. Damn, remember when we met the other staff? Mercedes can sing."

"We might never see them again."

His friend didn't answer. Loneliness settled in.

Mike coughed. "I guess we should sleep then."

"You don't think - " Matt hesitated - "you actually don't think we'll die here, do you?"

Mike willed himself to calm his rising panic. He couldn't afford to throw up. "Director Sue said they'd be back tomorrow."

"I know. But Rory and Sugar died. Other counselors probably died here too."

"We won't die. We'll make sure we both make it out."

"You don't sound that sure."

"Hey - " Mike shifted to rest, painfully, on his side, and propped up an elbow to lean his head on it so he could look at Matt. "I'm not sure. But you and I are much more than just two more singing and dancing mofos. The LIZARDS must have a weakness."

Matt looked over at him. The eyes and the stars gleamed faintly on Mike's skin. "I know. But we've been running all day. This means we have to wait for them and watch and figure out what to do."

"You've got really good observation skills, Matt. I'll help you."

Matt's tone became admiring. "You got those grubs. How'd you know they were okay to eat?"

"Saw a monkey eating them. I figured if monkeys can eat them, humans could too."

Matt found a shred of relief to wrap himself in. "If we could climb, we could get the fruit and the nuts. Me and my brother climb the trees in our backyard all the time."

"That's the spirit, bud." _Hisssssssssssss_. All the eyes blinked in unison.

Mike flopped back down. "I'm tired."

"I am too, but if we're gonna stay here, one of us should stay up. I'll take first watch."

"Okay. Lemme sleep. Night, Matt."

"Night, Mike." 

Mike was asleep before the end of the sentence. Matt sat up. 

Matt sat up and crossed his legs. There was a thick human femur lying close by, about as wide around as two of his wrists. It would make a good weapon. He gave it an experimental, if limited, swing. He smiled. He remembered, though it felt like a lifetime ago, the feel of a light foam T-ball bat in his hand, and then, years later, the weight of a real aluminum one. Batter up, tense, swing from the hips; the crack of the ball against the sweet spot, then the bat would fly out of his hands with the force of the hit. You knew, from the satisfying thud, that you'd done it right. During a home run, twelve-year-old Matt always imagined that the ball had catapulted so high it reached the sun and burned in its rays. He imagined it because he was always running. Round the bases. Slide into home. Home. Home. 

He pinched himself, but his eyelids drooped. He dropped the bone. _Hissssssssssssss_. And off in the distance, a steady beat: _click-click-click-click_.

III  
Mike screamed himself awake. He'd heard the _click-click-click-click_ in his dreams, the dreams where he ran over rocks and between branches while bugs crawled, serpentine, all over and inside his shoes and he screamed, but the horror when he awoke and the scream died on his cracked lips - 

It was... midday? Still humid and sticky and hell was still painted a dark forest-green. 

There was no time for it to register because, looming just above Matt's snoring form was - a - 

 

**GIANT**

**FUCKING**

**SCORPION.**

 

The SCORPION was far, far bigger than the GIANT FUCKING LIZARDS had been and indeed, there were actually two dead LIZARD corpses strewn across the sort-of-clearing, bleeding, clotting a thick dark red. The SCORPION had shiny black plates for a carapace and jointed legs and GIANT FUCKING PINCERS. They went click-click and it echoed chillingly throughout the clearing. Click. Click. He supposed he should be grateful that there was no more of the _hisssssssssssssss_ sounds. Of course. Matt. Wait. Matt!

The GIANT FUCKING SCORPION's stinger arched above Matt's abdomen.

Mike didn't think. Adrenaline shot through his bloodstream. He crawled fast on his hands and knees and lunged forward, ducking under the curved, glistening tip of the stinger. He grabbed handfuls of Matt's torn shirt. He jerked roughly and pulled hard to roll Matt over and away. "Wake up. Wake up!"

Matt also screamed himself awake.

The stinger shot down, but Matt and Mike rolled away just before it stabbed the earth. They scrambled and stood up, shaking. Matt was hoarse. His head swiveled around like a top. "Where's my bone? Where?"

The SCORPION scuttled backwards. It had both boys in its beady, evil sights. It could jump. _Oh my fucking God, it could jump_. It hopped from side to side and those pincers didn't stop. _Click. Click. Click._ Its segmented tail waved from side to side, swinging that stinger around as if it was trying to target someone for a quick, searing strike. 

A predatory pounce forward, rustling the underbrush, and both their hearts rose up to strangle the breath out of their bodies. They screamed in unison and leaned back and ran, Matt to the left of it and Mike to the right. 

It was playful. It waited and turned its little evil head to watch each of them like a cat toying with two terrified mice. 

Mike had absolutely no clue why Matt had called it his bone but he found it. He found it. He held it in both hands, waving it about like a sword. Mike caught the SCORPION's appraising look. It scuttled around, following him, and Mike, seeing his advantage, edged it attention away from Matt.

"Run," Mike screamed. "Run!"

"I'm not leaving you!" Matt was searching around frantically for another weapon he could use, somewhere in the brush, wedged in between the stones - something - wait - the stones - Click - click - 

"You dumbass! Run while you still can!"

Matt prayed to a God that he was still sure was out there somewhere.

The rock flew from his hand and struck it hard against its back. It made a satisfying thud and the GIANT FUCKING SCORPION screamed (nothing on this island made sense, why did it have vocal cords?). It crawled backwards, scattering branches and bones. 

Matt ran up to Mike, who was still swinging his bone. He still had his supply of sharp-edged stones. 

He threw the next one. And as with the satisfying crack of the ball against a bat, Matt had always known, as a twelve-year-old pitcher, when the screwball he threw was about to strike the batter out.

It flew. A sharp edge struck it directly into one of its eyes. Gleaming fluid trickled down its little evil head. It made a terrifying _click-click-click_ with its PINCERS and screamed in agony. It wavered, teetering, on its tiny feet. 

Mike yelled like a banshee. He ran forward. He struck it again and again and again with the bone in between its eyes in panic and desperation and brain-clouding fear, and Matt kept on throwing his rocks, and they both yelled and yelled and yelled while the heavy stinger swung overhead and then - 

_**THUD**_.

It legs spreadeagled from under it. It collapsed. The earth trembled as it fell. 

Mike and Matt were too exhausted to examine the destruction they'd wrought. Matt put a hand on Mike's shoulder and grasped it hard. Mike looked at his friend through matted hair as they both tried to catch their breath.

That was the cue for a new swarm of MOSQUITOES to fly in. They divebombed in on the two boys, biting and sucking greedily as their exhausted blood ran dry. 

They fell down together. Mike threw the bone away. It broke as it hit the ground. He swatted at the vicious bugs surrounding poor exhausted Matt.

His spirit broke like the tree trunks, also broken in half. Elsewhere in the forest, except for the vicious buzzing, it was actually very quiet. No _hissssssssssss_ , no faraway birdcalls and hollers, no answering rustle of leaves. 

That was why her voice had sounded like that, cutting through the clogged air incisively like diamond on glass. 

"I see you had a real party here."

The steely, blond-haired woman, Director Sue, chose that moment to stride through the buzzing swarms. She looked fresh as a daisy. She ignored the SCORPION corpse. The hems of her polyester camouflage pantsuit weren't even dirty. A smaller girl in glasses and a camouflage cheerleader's outfit stomped in with her. Both of them wore mosquito netting hats and both of them looked exquisitely amused. They crossed their arms and looked down, thankfully blocking the glare of the sky overhead, at this midpoint of what was going to be another wonderful day in hell. 

"Other Asian. Background Black Guy. You both made it."

The smaller girl tossed cans of bug spray down on their stomachs. Mike and Matt groaned.

IV  
On the boat ride back to Camp New Directions, it was Matt who first broke the silence.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I think so. I'm looking forward to a change of clothes and sleep and pissing in a toilet and a hot shower and a real meal."

"Me too. I never want to see another insect ever again. Or another lizard."

Mike rubbed calamine over his bug bites. "I hear ya."

"I told you we'd make it, didn't I?" and Matt gave him a friendly poke in the ribs. 

Mike grinned. It was a very nice smile. "You did, didn't you? You're a smart guy."

The soothing whirrrrr of the motor pushed them further away from the sun-drenched island. It disappeared, thankfully, over the horizon. Matt grinned back. It was also a very nice smile. "Hey - we should sing a song together for the kids. I bet they'd like that."

"I think so."

Matt made a faint negative movement of his head. "We should definitely do it this summer. I already don't know if I want to come back to work here next year. Not if it's going to be like this."

"You don't know that," Mike said warmly. "I'd miss you."

"Let's not think about that. Still. I'm glad I made a real friend at Camp New Directions."

"After this experience? We're friends forever." 

They shook on it as the boat sped on. And for the record, they were always forever friends.


End file.
